nothing, prepares anyone for the regime of fitness required by a former SAS Major.
They were getting there now. Many of the assault team members possessed power that bordered on animal strength. They could run like cheetahs, fight like tigers. Even the Iron Man from the Pyrenees, Col. Jacques Gamoudi, who had visited for two days that week, was deeply impressed by the level of their fitness.
Out there on this burning shore they practiced every form of assault-troop warfare, building temporary “strongholds” designed to be attacked only by their own colleagues. All through the dark hours, they would watch, wait, study the stars and the cycles of the moon, slowly growing into their chosen roles as predators of the night.
They learned to cut wire, silently, within earshot of their own sentries, sharp but unheard. They learned to move quietly across rough ground, on their elbows, armed to the teeth. They learned to attack from behind with the combat knife. They learned priceless skills in near-silent communication one to the other. And they learned expertise in explosives. Some were just brushing up prior knowledge and training. Others were rookies at the combustion game. But not for long.
Above all, they learned to listen in the dark: to the soft breezes of the desert, to the approach of a distant vehicle — with the wind, and then against it, because the sound was different. They could recognize the snap of a breaking twig at forty yards, they could discern the sound of a footstep on the sand. By the end of February, General Rashood’s men were supremely attuned to the rhythms of the night.
By day, they were trained physically, starting every morning at 0500, before the sun was up — jogging, sprinting, push-ups, and finishing with a four-mile run into the desert and back. There was a two-hour break, before a sumptuous lunch, the food flown in from France in a special refrigerated French Air Force jet. No group of combat soldiers was ever better fed. The French Republic had a very large investment in these men.
An entire barrack room block was converted into a kitchen. Cooks and orderlies were flown in from Taverny. There was beef, lamb, sausage, fish, chicken, and duck. If a man wanted a large fillet steak every day, he could have it. But the salad, spinach, cabbage, beans, brussels sprouts, and parsnips were compulsory throughout the week. There was also fresh French bread and milk, fruit from all around the Mediterranean. Gallons of fresh fruit juice, tea, coffee, and fresh cream.
The camp ran entirely on two large generators driven by diesel engines. Every afternoon, after the late two- mile run, there was a briefing before dinner, where General Rashood and the commanding officers would go over the plan of attack. Over and over.
The assault on Khamis Mushayt would begin on the night of March 25. And on this evening, February 23, at 1700, General Rashood was presiding, speaking in his native English, which all the Arab warriors understood, and most of the French. He outlined the various points of departure, informing them for the first time that they would make the 250-mile journey from Fort Mousea in seventy-foot-long Arab dhows, the traditional craft of the Red Sea, the one least likely to attract attention. Each man would be disguised as a Bedouin, dressed in traditional Arab tribal clothes.
The dhows’ appearance was unique. They were lateen-rigged, with yardarms diagonal to the mast. Their single sails had propelled them on a million stately journeys through these waters for thousands of years; their high, peaked sails distinguished them from all other craft. As did their total unsuitability in rough water.
General Rashood’s dhows would make this journey from Djibouti and run north, crossing one of the narrowest points of the Red Sea from west to east, and then sailing up the long coast of Yemen.
“These things make a fairly steady seven knots,” said General Rashood. “In a light westerly breeze, that is, straight off the desert — which is what we usually get in these parts. The journey to the north coast of Yemen will take us less than two days, and we will leave in relays from here, beginning at first light tomorrow morning.
“The first convoy will be three dhows carrying my Team Three and the command staff of our headquarters. That’s twenty-four passengers, eight per dhow. I do not want everyone concentrated together, in case of the unexpected. Each man will take his personal weapons, AK-47, service revolver, and ammunition, combat knife, and hand grenades. We will take food for seventeen days, plus water, radios, cell phones, bedding, and first-aid requirements. At no time will any dhow be out of sight of the other two.
“Teams One and Two will leave two days later, each of them in two dhows. That’s two leaving around o-six- hundred, and two more at fourteen-hundred. All the dhows will land on a very lonely stretch of coastline in northern Yemen, each team in a separate location. Again I am trying to avoid a concentration of personnel and equipment. I am unworried about being attacked. I am worried only about being noticed. Your landing sites have all been selected after long study of reconnaissance photographs taken specially by French Air Force surveillance aircraft.”
Everyone nodded in both understanding and agreement. There were even a couple of “
“We can’t go by air, because the only landing places are Saudi controlled. We daren’t risk helicopters because they’re too noisy and may easily be located by military surveillance around Khamis Mushayt. And that means we’ll have to walk.”
“How far is it, sir?” called one of the Saudi troopers.
“Less than a hundred fifty miles, but more than a hundred thirty. Probably only a hundred and ten as the crow flies.” General Rashood shook his head. “Sorry,” he said. “We must walk through the mountains, and it will take us ten to twelve days. Anything we need we carry, and that means heavy bergan rucksacks, and there are not many armies that could do it.
“The terrain is awful, with steep gradients, and the heat’s a bloody nightmare. But we are not ordinary forces. We’re Special Forces. And we’re about to find out how we got the word
Again the assembly of brutally trained men nodded in agreement. “Twelve miles a day does it, right, sir?” one of General Rashood’s Hamas freedom fighters called out.
“Correct, Said,” replied the General. “Sometimes it will be easier marching along the high ground. Other times it will be much more difficult. Maybe down to one mile an hour on the steep escarpments. But overall we’ll aim for fourteen miles a day, and some days we’ll cover perhaps twenty, and others only four. But we’ll make it. We have to make it.”
He waited for the interpreters to make clarifications, and there was no dissension. The General continued. “Each team will take a different route from the Yemeni coast through the mountains to our RV, which is four miles south of the King Khalid Air Base. There’ll be al-Qaeda guides out in the mountains to bring us in. There is already a carefully selected “hide,” and everyone will have a minimum of twenty-four hours to rest up before the attack. Most of us should get a little longer than that, but there will be recces throughout each night — around the air base and along the road that leads up to Khamis Mushayt.
“By the time you reach the RV, you may have used your food and water. Which is fine. There will be fresh everything awaiting us. The Foreign Legion brought the food and mineral water in through Abha Airfield, to the west of King Khalid. Al-Qaeda transported it by camel up through the foothills to our rendezvous point.
“There will also be local maps for each man, which I’ll distribute in a moment. You will see there’s a road leading up to the base, which we obviously ignore totally. We will come cross-country, to the village of al-Rosnah, then cross a secondary mountain track and into wild country above another village, called Elshar Mushayt.
“From there we look down through the hills and see in the distance the military base to the left and the airfield to the right. It’s a perfect spot for us. And the people of both these little places probably know we’re coming and will be ready to assist.
“Once we’re in those hills we’re more or less safe. Just so long as we shoot straight and hard on the night of March twenty-fifth.”
The chefs had organized a superb farewell dinner and roasted a half of everything they had left, mostly duck, chicken, and veal. There was one large joint of lamb, and they even made a cassoulet. They had run out of potatoes and rice, but there was about a half-ton of spinach and salad. The cheeses that remained were plentiful, and the dinner was topped off with a massive chocolate pudding.
The commanding officers had even allowed a bottle of wine between four men, and by 10 P.M., when the troops retired to bed for a four-hour sleep, there was just enough left to feed the diminishing force for forty-eight
